It's Over

Hi, my name is Bart.

ME: But...

I

ME: Can't we just...

am

ME: I don't understand.

single

What happened?

I came home from work and Joey was waiting for me in the living room.

JOEY: We need to talk.

How did I feel about that?

I remember not wanting to leave the doorway. I remember thinking if I stay in the doorway I can prolong this moment from happening. He will not hurt me while I am standing in this doorway. I think he understood that because he stood up, and said--

JOEY: It's over.

And I just sort of slowly crumpled to the floor. I remember my legs not feeling like they could hold me up. I remember not wanting to take my eyes off of him, wondering if he looked any different, wondering if Joey had been replaced with someone who would actually do something like this to me.

I don't remember crying.

JOEY: Bart, it's going to be okay.

I do remember hyperventilating.

JOEY: Just breathe, okay? Take a deep breath.

I remember being wracked with sobs and deep, heavy tears rolling down out of my eyes.

JOEY: This has been coming on for a long time. We're both not happy. You know that.
ME: I'm...happy...Please...I'm...so...happy...Please...don't...

There was begging.
Pleading.
Beseeching.

There was another version of myself in the corner watching the whole thing saying "You're so pathetic. Did you ever think this would be you? Did you ever think you'd be this person?"

JOEY: I'm going to stay here for tonight, but tomorrow I'm going to my Mom's.
ME: Can't we just--
JOEY: I made up my mind, Bart. I'm so sorry.

I could tell he felt bad, but resolved. That's his way with a lot of things. He waits until the very last minute to say there's a problem and by that time the problem has gotten so large there's just no fixing it. I point this out to him.

He said--

JOEY: I know.

The most frustrating answer in the history of western civilization.

JOEY: I'm going to pack some stuff.

He went into the bedroom. I left. I couldn't be there with him. Driving around the city with my hand continually banging on the steering wheel, listening to Sade and Amanda Marshall, my eyes felt like they were going to burn so bright that I'd drive my car off the highway.

It wasn't an unpleasant option.

You spend years of your life with someone. You get closer to them than you ever thought you'd be. You make decisions that affect your life based on how it will affect theirs. You eat meals together. You make love. You argue. You discuss the future. There are plans. There is safety. There is comfort.

Then it's gone. It's over.

I drove to the club so I could drink myself into a stupor enough to pass out in my car.

Going home did not seem like an option.

Standing on the second floor looking down, I saw that guy Carter I talked to the last time I was here. He was dancing on the raised box above the dance floor. My eyes zeroed in on him and it suddenly seemed clear what I was going to do.

I went down to the dance floor, climbed up on the box, and tapped him on the shoulder.

ME: Hey.
CARTER: Oh, hi Bartholomew.
ME: What?
CARTER: That's your name, isn't it? I like calling people by their full names.
ME: Okay, fine. Listen, do you want to get out of here--
CARTER: But you said--
ME: Forget everything I may have told you before. Everything's different now. Nothing that applied applies anymore. Will you come home with me?
CARTER: Okay.

Just like that.

He follows me home. We get into the elevator. He presses me up against the wall and we make out not caring if anyone else gets in with us. When we reach my floor I start to shake. Can I do this? Can I show Joey how much he loves me by showing him what it would be like to see me with another man?

We go into my apartment.

Empty.

The apartment is empty.

There's a note on the table next to the couch.

I decided to leave early. It's better this way. Please don't hate me. Joey.

I crumple up the note.

CARTER: Is everything okay?
ME: Leave.
CARTER: What?
ME: Get...out.
CARTER: But--
ME: GET OUT! GO! GO! GO!

I scream it until he runs out of the apartment. Then I turn over everything in the apartment that can be turned over. Clothing gets pulled out of drawers. Things get thrown. Utensil drawers get flung all over the kitchen.

And then it's all over.

It's over and there's nothing but the silence and chaos.

So I sit in a room where there used to be something and I wait for it to return.